


accident & emergency

by little_baby_kaiju



Series: five’s tiny bladder (and other stories) [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Desperation, Omorashi, Watersports, Wetting, no beta we die like men, tiny bladder!Five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 01:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18273029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_baby_kaiju/pseuds/little_baby_kaiju
Summary: As he shifts to switch on his bedside lamp he stiffens. Oh. That’s what woke him up.He has to pee.





	accident & emergency

**Author's Note:**

> Five’s tiny 13-year-old bladder ruins his night. First in a series.

Five wakes with a start, eyes flying open suddenly. He takes a moment to look into the darkness, wondering what woke him up. He hasn’t had a nightmare, and nothing seems amiss as far as he can hear. As he shifts to switch on his bedside lamp he stiffens. Oh. That’s what woke him up.

He has to pee.

Like, worse than he thinks he’s ever had to pee before.

He moves carefully and slowly and flicks the switch on his lamp. A hand flies between his legs as a few drops of pee soak into his pyjamas and he whimpers quietly. He’s never had to go this bad before; he’s not even sure he’ll make it to the bathroom in time. Anxiety blooms in his chest, which is ridiculous - he’s 58 years old! He shouldn’t be in this situation. His stupid 13-year-old body has the tiniest bladder imaginable and it’s really messing up his efforts to act as mature as possible.

Sitting up seems like a herculean task but he manages (barely), both hands jammed between his thighs. He can hear his thrumming heartbeat in his ears between his own gasping pants. If he could see himself right now, he knows his face would be flushed bright red.

 _Right_ , he thinks. _If_ _I_ _can_ _teleport_ _to_ _the_ _bathroom_ _then_ _it_ _won’t_ _matter_ _if_ _I_ _have_ _an_... _accident_. _I_ _can_ _just_ _mop_ _the_ _tiles_.

But he’s still tipsy from the evening and he’s sleepy and so _so_ desperate that his powers decide to just... not work.

He groans in frustration, ending with a breathy gasp as a spurt of hot liquid dampens his pyjama pants further. There’s an unmistakeable wet spot there now, about the size of a baseball.

Resolve hardening, he very carefully stands up on shaky, unsteady legs. His bladder drops into place as he stands and he moans in pain. He doesn’t think he can take his hands out from between his thighs without leaking, but he has to open his bedroom door somehow, so he moves one hand out and grips himself tighter with the other.

Frantically reaching for the door handle, his legs twist together as a twinge runs through his bladder, which bulges out of his lower stomach as if he’s a few months pregnant. Gingerly, he leans against the doorframe for a moment and brushes his free hand across his belly gently, feeling the taut skin and almost sobbing with the pressure.

Pushing himself away from the wall, he sets off on the most daunting mission of his entire life - make it to the bathroom without peeing his pants and/or waking up his siblings. The floorboards creak under his waddling gait but the second part of his mission gets less and less important as the first overshadows it with every shuddering step. He’s only a few feet away from the bathroom door when he leaks again, feeling the wet heat against the hand shoved between his legs, but it’s more than he was expecting, pee spurting down the inside of his thigh. He sucks in a breath as he shifts his feet forward gently. Every step is agonising but he’s so close, he’s so _close_ -

He loses it just as he gets into the bathroom. It pours out of him like a flood, and through the haze of desperation and relief he finds it within himself to open the toilet lid and sit down, pee gushing through the seat of his pyjama pants. There’s a sizeable puddle on the floor and his pants are sodden and the door isn’t locked and he’s almost crying with relief because he made it, he made it and that’s all that matters. The stream seems endless, but as soon as it peters out he shucks his soiled pyjamas, locks the bathroom door and turns on the shower.

He’s got some cleaning up to do.


End file.
